“But she can’t know for certain,” I say, glaring at Harper. I’m trying to give her an out. Doing everything in my power to keep the two of us from being forced to tie the knot.
“I could be pregnant,” Harper says and rests a hand on her stomach. “I mean,” she glances at Luca, “the last time we?—”
“We were careful,” Luca growls and steps closer to Harper. “She’s not marrying Ashton. He’s not so much as touching my wife.”
Harper’s breath hitches, and I hide the smile growing on my face as I take a step back, trying to let the two of them sort through this little issue and keep me out of it.
“Your wife,” Dante repeats, rubbing at his jaw. “You still want to marry Harper? After everything she’s done to hurt you?”
“I fully intend on taking her as my wife,” Luca growls and grabs Harper’s hand a bit aggressively. He tugs her closer, and I’ve seen the two of them act in love before, but this is something else.
Possessive.
Heated.
Luca is fueled with a quiet rage destined to be destructive.
Dante is quiet, seizing the moment, deciding on what course of action he wishes to take. “Luca, you will wed Harper at once. Ashton, you will be a witness, and I will handle being the officiant.”
Four
Luca
Once Nikki returns with Zeke, standing against the wall, she keeps him quiet and calm.
There is a set of wedding rings on the bookshelf that we are provided, and I slide a gold band on Harper’s ring finger as I say the required vows.
I can barely look at her.
Her eyes are on me, but I look everywhere but her face.
The pain rips at me, scolds me. This is wrong, but letting her marry Ashton, I could never allow it.
Once the ring is secured, I move my hand away, refusing to touch her for a second longer than necessary.
She shifts the weight on her feet.
Harper clearly isn’t happy.
None of this makes me happy, either.
I’m still dressed in jeans and a sweater.
Harper’s not even in her wedding gown. The moment feels like we’re being robbed, but at the same time, I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Dante recants the vows that Harper must say as she takes my hand and slides the ring over my finger.
Her hand is warm, while my fingers are ice cold.
I want to pull away, but she takes her time sliding the ring onto my finger, over past my knuckle, and she holds my hand as she says the required words.
The weight of the band is heavy, and I stare down at the mistake that will forever stare back at me.
This isn’t a celebration of love.
It is a ceremony meant only to join us in marriage, a legally binding contract.
